Edric Dayne
Edric Dayne, the third-born son of Lord Joffrey and Lady Ashara Dayne, is the current Sword of the Morning, and an Oathbreaker. He was once a Brother of the Kingsguard. Early Life ‘Rest’ wasn’t a word known to Edric Dayne. Born the third child to Lord Joffrey and Lady Ashara Dayne, the only options open to Edric were the sword and the Septry. He would never inherit, he would never rule. Never one for the ramblings of the Seven, Edric, aged six, took in his hand a sword he could barely lift and practiced with Starfall’s Master-at-arms until he could. Joffrey Dayne was content enough to let his third-born toil away his days in the sun, swinging and ducking and taking bruises. After all, what use was there in a third-born? Either Edric would be married off or he’d find a life elsewhere. The elder Dayne had no wish to finance a son who’d be of no use to him, who’d bring him no benefit. His mother, soft as a summer’s breeze, was a different sort. She often and enthusiastically reminded Edric of her love. She did this for all her children, but she spent just a little more time with Edric. And as he grew he would pause a moment when he passed the ancestral sword Dawn, kept inside a box of cedarwood behind Lord Joffrey’s seat. He came to covet it. The sight of the blade set a fire in him. And one night, aged twelve, he made a vow to the Old Gods and the New, to the Seven and to the Red God, that he’d be named Sword of the Morning one day. He was sent to Sunspear aged eight, accompanied by Starfall’s Master-at-arms, and there he would remain until aged 15. It was Aron Irongut, Starfall’s Master-at-arms and more a father than Edric’s actual father had ever bothered to be, who secured for Edric a space in the Second Sons when he reached fifteen years of age. The news was delivered by Aron personally, and Edric, ever grateful, hugged the old, scarred man with tears building behind his eyes. His father had little care that Edric was departing the only life he knew, sparing only a nod and a grunt when his son came to inform him. Edric’s mother shed tears, but wished him luck and safe travels. Edric left two days later, on a ship bound for the other side of the Narrow Sea. He travelled alone, with him a pack filled with a change of clothes and a locket shaped like a sparrow, gifted to him by The Lady Martell. A sparrow, it was said, because they always find their way home. A few failed attacks by pirates, a storm, and a shipwreck later, Edric washed up on a beach not far from Pentos. His pack was gone, along with the castle-forged blade granted to him by Aron Irongut. He had on him the clothes on his back and the sparrow locket. A old Pentoshi man discovered him unconscious, out for his afternoon walk, and offered the young Dayne a meal and a drink. Edric accepted, and over lunch with the man, his wife, and their hound, the Pentoshi taught him a little of their language. He said his goodbyes the next morning to the man’s wife, and hitched a lift to Pentos proper with the man who’d shown him such kindness. There, the old man told him, he’d find the Second Son’s camp. There he could find himself back on the path he was meant to be on. And though only fifteen, Edric was possessed of the frame and the features of an older man. So, his silver hair bound back, Edric helped the man load supplies into the wagon when they reached the city market. He approached the Second Son’s sentries with a broad grin on his face, and it faltered when he was turned away. He’d argued with them for an hour and a half, had refused to move unless moved forcibly, had demanded to see someone in charge, and the answer had come back the same each time. ‘No’. Without the signed writ, it was impossible to prove he was who he claimed to be. When Edric pointed out the silver hair, the guard - squirrelly, with a disturbingly lacking chin and mis-matched armour - claimed dye, and when Edric instead pointed out the violet eyes, the man merely shrugged. Edric trekked back to Pentos, angry and lost for ideas. He slept in alley-ways and on rooftops for a week before he started petitioning local businesses for work. He was rebuked by most everywhere, except by an smith by the name of Timeon. Dornish, like Edric, Timeon had come to Pentos at twenty and never left. Edric was happy to aid Timeon around the forge in exchange for meal and board. This arrangement stood for a year, until a minor skirmish broke out with an organised group of bandits and Pentos put together a responding force led by Magister Halvard Narratys. In this time Edric worked on his Pentoshi. The host was to be no larger than one thousand men, three-quarters trained professionally and the other quarter volunteers. Edric raced to set his name down when he heard, and was happy enough to come away from the morning as an aide-de-camp. He wouldn’t be fighting, but at the very least he could perhaps prove himself, if the opportunity arose. Timeon was understanding. Ruffled the lad’s hair and told him to watch himself. And, as a reward for his good work, gifted to Edric a sword with a purple stone set into the hilt. And off he went, riding not only as an aide-de-camp but an aide-de-camp to Magister Halvard himself. Edric hadn’t expected the Magister to be the sort of man he turned out to be. That was to say, Edric had expected an armchair general, a man who sat on the hill and watched his men push themselves through hell and then reaped the glory for their actions. Instead, Halvard was more a soldier than a Magister. Young, perhaps just under thirty, in a scarred breastplate that, by some degree of magic, shone as bright as the the scaled armour of the Kingsguard. Halvard was quick with praise, with a smile, and with a jest. His smile was infectious, more so than the greyscale. Halvard was a leader, and when Edric tended to his charge in the evenings; fetching wine and wiping down his boots, the Magister would chat to him as a friend would a friend. Occasionally he’d impart wisdom, would encourage Edric to chase honour in all its forms. And Edric listened to every word the man had to say as it were the word of the Seven. They tracked the bandit host for weeks, over flatland and through the hills. And then, on the night before they’d meet in battle, Halvard had Edric measured for his own set of armour. Nothing fancy, but something all the same. Magister Halvard did not survive the excursion. He was cut down, the report would later detail, defending a contingent of physickers as they escorted the wounded from the field of battle. Edric had fought by his side, drafted in due to a shortage of decent fighting men, and Halvard had told him to retreat with the others. His men had tried to reach him, but he ordered them to hold their ground, and he laughed and he fought and he died for the men he led. The day was a success, the bandits were killed or captured, and Edric won some amount of renown for his actions upon the field. Edric, once he’d bathed, wiped himself clean of the blood, was given leave to take Halvard’s sword to his only remaining kin; the Magister’s sister, living on his estates perhaps a day and a half’s ride from Pentos proper. He considered the act an honour and set about it with some speed. He arrived safely, and for a brief moment, stood at the foot of the stairs that would lead into the bowels of the Narratys manse, he thought he was standing as Halvard would. Again he’d expected Herra Narratys to be something different than she turned out to be, and again he was proved wrong. The woman who sashayed down the steps was pretty - not beautiful, never beautiful - but pretty, and untouched, at least on the outside, by the grief. Edric presented to her her brother’s sword and said nothing. No words seemed to fit the situation. She took it with grace, nodded her thanks, and then, when she caught sight of a wound he’d taken oozing crimson, ordered him into a back room packed with herbs and bandages and books. Once she’d cleaned up the cut, set bandages to it, she invited him to stay a few days. The least she could do for a friend of Halvard’s, she said. They spent the next few days wandering the surrounding estate, talking and eating fine food and drinking, and laughing, even. On a hill overlooking a small copse of green, next to a brook with water clearer than Tarth’s, they shared a kiss. It went no further. Edric returned to Pentos and was greeted an honoured son of the city state. The Council of Magisters, the Prince himself, decreed those brave thousand that went to fight be remembered. He was granted a job guarding the Magister Monpatis, and then bounced around from Magister to Magister when the Old Monpatis died. He remained in Pentos for four years, until he turned 20, whereupon he was cast away for being falsely accused. Several of Magister Mopatis the Younger’s leech friend grew jealous of Edric’s success, and so they began a rumor that the Dayne was having an affair with the Magister’s wife. Unfortunately the Magister was extremely paranoid and somewhat malleable, so even when Edric came to him to dismiss the rumor, Mopatis dismissed him from his service. Not before Edric threw down a challenge to clear his name, however. He was willing to either fight ten of the best fighters the conspirators could muster, or face any of the conspirators personally, and he would let them pick a finger from his right hand to be cut off before the duel. They did not accept. He took a job guarding a caravan bound for Meereen. The contents of the merchant’s wagons were denied to him, but although he felt uneasy not knowing what he was guarding, Edric needed the coin. He agreed, and they set off. A week into the journey, sleep denied to him, Edric heard a faint moaning from inside one of the wagons. He did some investigating, found that his employer was transporting slaves. A Volantene patrol found the wagon some time later, scorched to hell, evidence of a small skirmish. Remains were found inside. From the scraps of clothing they recovered, the remains were not those of the slaves. He would later receive a message from Magister Mopatis asking him to return, as the men who had accused him had revealed their lie in a squabble with one another. The Magister was prideful, didn't even apologize, but Edric returned anyway. He felt it was his fault he hadn't done enough to safe-guard his image. A little later Magister Monpatis, in a move Edric warned him was wrong, tried to fight a more influential Magister for a little more control of the Council. In the middle of the conflict he contracted the bloody flux and died. On his deathbed he asked Edric to make a pilgrimage to Meereen on his behalf, to pray for his soul. Edric agreed. In Meereen now, and Edric found himself ready to go home. Starfall called to him. He longed to see his brother, his sisters. His mother. Even, to a degree, his father, who’d written a few times in the last four years. But to go home he needed coin, and to get coin he’d need to work. There were two types of work in Meereen; either you fought for a Free Company or you fought for yourself in the pits. So, in 349AC, aged 20, Edric Dayne signed on with the Company of the Cat. Placed under the command of a man by the name of Ser Blue, alongside half a dozen other fresh recruits, Edric marched as a sellsword. While there he became fast friends with a bear of a man who went by Grazdan. A former slave, Grazdan had signed on with the Company because he had nowhere else to go. Despite the selling of his sword, Edric stood stalwart in his honour, like Halvard had taught him to. They fought together in more than a few conflicts. Most famously the war between the forces of the High Priest of R'hllor and the Bearded Priests of Norvos. It was in part due to the valiant efforts of the Company that the Norvosi were able to fight back the numerically superior force of the Southern Cities. And while the Company of the Cat’s successes grew, so did the friendship between Grazdan and Edric. In Norvos he met Catri; a woman who’d prove to be a larger part of his life later down the line. At twenty-four, in 353AC, Edric took his leave of the Company, of Catri (She’d gift to him a wolfshead locket and tell him that when she was near, the chain it hung from would break), and boarded a ship back to Westeros. He arrived in Starfall to news that sent him into a dark period. A year before he’d arrived back home, his mother had passed. He’d missed the funeral, her final moments. After a week of grieving, Edric emerged from his chambers and reunited with his family. Lord Joffrey, slowing down in his senior years, barely greeted his third-born at all. Seeing Dawn again, coupled with his mother’s death, perhaps added fuel to that flame he’d lit inside himself all those years ago, before he left for the East. And for the next seven (Seven, he thought, was holy. Seven years for Seven gods) years he’d work at being the knight Halvard, his mother, and Grazdan had encouraged him to be. He took his leave of Starfall once again, taking with him only a horse, his blade, and a pack of supplies, and he journeyed the length and breadth of Westeros aiding the small-folk, aiding lords and ladies, and participating in tourneys. He conducted himself with honour, always. In 350AC, aged 31, Edric received a summons from his Lord Father while staying in Tumbleton. He made the trip to Starfall in half again the time it should take. There, on a bright summer’s morning overlooking the Red Mountains, Edric Dayne was granted Dawn and knighted the Sword of the Morning by a grinning Lord Joffrey. It was the first time he’d seen his father proud of him, the first time he’d been embraced by the man. They talked well into the night over wine, and Joffrey asked many questions regarding Edric’s time in the East. Edric left his father’s study happier than he’d been in a long time. A week and a half later Joffrey Dayne was dead, and Edric’s brother Gerold was named Lord. Edric, his dreams now accomplished, set out for King’s Landing. He couldn’t say what led him there, what drew him like a moth to a flame, but there he went. And there he found that a member of the Kingsguard had died. It was almost on instinct that he put himself forward for the position. A few physical tests later and it was done. He sat vigil for a night, and was sworn in that morning. The white-cloak he was given almost meant as much to him as Dawn did, and for the next six years he does his duty perfectly. He hears disturbing rumours of a man named Grazdan claiming to be King of the Stepstones, but does his best to convince himself this man and his old friend are not one in the same. In 366AC, Edric can no longer deny that Grazdan the Gruesome is the self-same man he knew from the Company of the Cat. Slipping away from the Red Keep late one night, Edric makes the journey from the Capital to the Stepstones, disguised as just another volunteer off to fight off the Gruesome. There, at Sapphire’s Holdfast, seeing the carnage wrought there on the orders of a man he once called friend, Edric casts off his hood and draws Dawn, the rasp of that blade sliding from its prison causes heads to turn, and suddenly the men of Westeros fight just a little harder, a little more determined. Edric meets Grazdan on the field, and the two come together to make a song of steel. Around them the battle stops. Men of the Company and men from the Seven Kingdoms cease their fighting to watch the dance playing out before them. It seems to last an age, the two men swinging for one another with everything they had; like everything had been leading up to this moment. They say nothing, only exchange looks. Grazdan’s is hard, angry, like he despises everything Edric had become. Edric wears an expression of stone. Neither angry nor sad. It ends when Grazdan misses a step, puts his foot on uneven ground and slides. Edric sees his opportunity and runs the man through, and they fall together to the mud. Edric holds Grazdan as he dies, and remembers him as he had been, not as he was. Despite cutting the head from the snake, there had been casualties. And Edric would carry these deaths with him later, feeling responsible somehow for not putting an end to Grazdan long before any of this could come to pass. When asked he would say nothing of the Stepstones. He returned to King’s Landing. There he stays now, a Knight of the Kingsguard. His honour paramount, his duty known. Recent History Edric has served the Crown faithfully since swearing his vow. Over the years he's befriended King Maekar, the twins Maelys and Naelys, and even took to training the two of them for a time. With the King's death, Edric stands troubled. Not only does he fear what lies ahead, but there's an feeling worming about in his gut that something's about to go very, very wrong. Category:Characters from Dorne Category:Kingsguard